


Your Picture in My Heart

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-17
Updated: 2000-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Picture in My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title from John Donne's "The Damp."

Rain dripping from the umbrella Jim held over them splashed onto Blair's best shoes, the shiny black pair he wore only to weddings and funerals. 

Of course, they were already muddy from walking up the drive and across the lawn to the draped gap into which Simon's coffin would be lowered. Simon's body, not Simon; Blair knew that the essence of Simon, that which made him so very Simon, had dissipated, returned to the cosmos. Only he and the other mourners were here. Simon was gone. 

As were so many others. Joel, of course, had gone first. Blair still deeply missed him; he'd always been so good to Blair. They'd formed a special bond that had lasted through the years, through times when they saw each other only very occasionally, until now when they would see each other no more. 

Joel's wife next, of a broken heart their children claimed, and Blair silently agreed. Joel had been an helpmeet to her, a devoted and loving husband, a most uxorious man. Blair respected that; among cops, it was rare. 

Naomi. But her death was too painful for Blair to consider. More than a loss. The world was diminished, some life force had drifted away, smoke on the horizon, a faint perfume, fading, fading. 

Joan, Simon's ex-wife, had been the next to exit Blair's circle. A terrible car crash. Darryl had flown home from medical school to find his father surprisingly distressed at the loss of his beloved adversary. Blair remembered Darryl holding his dad at the edge of that grave, both big men, both weeping. Though he hadn't known Joan well, he'd cried, too, in sympathy of their pain. 

And now Darryl stood alone. A man in full, as tall as his father though not as broad. A doctor. Married to another doctor. Respected in his chosen field of forensics. 

Jim stood next to Darryl, and Blair, huddled under their shared umbrella, looked up at his friends as they stared down at the coffin, poised to be slid into the grave. The pastor had spoken a few words, the Chief of Police had given Darryl a flag, guns had been fired, bagpipes played. The crowd dispersed. 

Across the coffin from Blair stood Megan and her husband. Another anthropologist. Megan had met him at some party or other Jim and Blair had thrown; poker night? Blair frowned; he couldn't remember how Ian and Megan had met. But they swore it was through his intervention, and he was pleased to play the role of yenta into which they had cast him in their marital fable. 

She was tanned and fit, as dark as her husband from the hours they spent in the sun. She'd quit the police force, taken an early retirement, and gone off with him to distant tropical sites, producing with little fuss and much pride several children, now grown up and scattered about the world. Today, their oldest's daughter's youngest, a girl of five named Kendall, clung to her grandfather as they, too, watched Jim and Darryl. And now Megan, not Blair, traveled the world and explored new cultures. 

Rafe and his wife, a petite and much-younger woman from South Africa, stood a few feet away. Always dapper, Rafe looked like an illustration for mourning wear. 

The rain grew harder. Blair nudged Jim, trying to get more of himself under the umbrella and not minding if, in the process, he somehow got Jim out of the rain and cold. He worried about his friend. He knew the weather would bring out all the aches and pain of his many past injuries. 

His own reminder of an exciting life was paining him. His thigh, where he'd been shot so many years ago; another reason to lean against Jim. 

He sighed as he felt Jim switch the umbrella from his left hand to his right and slip his left arm around Blair's shoulders. Blair openly cuddled up to him, chilly and tired, anxious to be home. 

The movement must have disturbed Darryl's reverie, for he, too, sighed deeply, and finally raised his eyes. They flickered from person to person, finally lighting on Blair, who smiled fondly at him. Darryl didn't smile back, but the tension from his face relaxed slightly and his eyes were warm. 

At last he looked at Jim. Simon's oldest friend. An uncle to Darryl. Blair knew, from conversations and from actions, how much Darryl loved and respected Jim. But how would he feel about Jim surviving? I would be resentful, Blair admitted to himself. Everyday I'd ask myself, why Simon and not Jim? But Darryl was a doctor; he understood Simon's health better than Blair could. Maybe he wouldn't ask himself that question. 

Or maybe he would reveal that he did. Darryl's eyes filled with tears as he looked steadily at Jim, who still watched the coffin. He reached out and gently touched Jim's arm, the one holding the umbrella. Blair felt Jim tremble, and heard him swallow hard. For a long moment, he struggled to contain his emotions; Blair could literally feel him pulling back, putting himself together for Darryl. And then their gazes finally met. 

"Oh, Darryl," Jim murmured, handed Blair the umbrella, and put his arms around his friend's son. They stood in the increasingly hard rain; Blair watched Jim's overcoat spot and darken as the wool caught the water. 

Finally Darryl sniffed loudly, pulled away, and patted Jim's shoulder. "Gotta get out of the rain," he said huskily, and everyone turned toward the parking lot. Blair remained for a moment, watching Darryl help Jim down the steep path. Megan twisted her head back to watch for him; he smiled and gave a slight wave. Then he turned to the coffin and, hesitantly, stroked it. 

"I couldn't leave if you were Jim," he whispered to the man he knew wasn't there. "It's hard enough to leave you here, Simon. Please God you're someplace safe and happy. Thank you for your friendship. For your love." He patted the coffin again, feeling his eyes fill with tears. "Good bye. Good bye." With difficulty, he turned and followed the others. 

Jim stood by the truck, still in the rain, and watched as Blair made his way toward him. Blair's leg was bothering him quite a bit, although he tried to mask his limp. He knew that Jim, even with his impaired hearing, could still hear the muscles twitch and the synapses fire as he drew nearer. 

"Get in the truck," Blair said with exasperation when he was close enough not to have to shout. "You're going to catch pneumonia, and I'm going to have to nurse you." Jim smiled at him, his faded blue eyes almost hidden in the complexly-folded wrinkles, but Blair's heart still caught with pleasure at the sight. 

"I love you, too," Jim answered him, and opened the truck's passenger door to help Blair in. "Good leg first," he warned him, which earned him another grumpy comment. But when Jim goosed Blair on the way up to the seat, his face revealed to Blair Jim's delight to hear his laughter ring out. 

"Come on, man," Blair begged, but Jim got him fastened into the seatbelt, kissed his cheek, and waited till he had his hands in the air before slamming the door shut. "You are going straight into a hot shower," Blair told him when he'd finally gotten himself in the truck. 

"Yes, mama," he answered meekly, getting a smack on the arm for it. 

"I'm serious. The others can have coffee and the stuff we left out; you take a shower. You're too fucking old to be standing around soaking wet, making nice." 

"And you're not?" But Blair knew Jim would obey him; after all, he had decades of evidence to support that knowledge. Still, even now he felt compelled to boss, to guide, or as Jim said it, to Guide. Privately he chided himself, called himself a Jewish mother, worse than Naomi had ever been, but the compulsion never left him. Do that, eat this, drink this other stuff, take your clothes off, lie down -- he shifted in his seat, promising himself they'd affirm they still lived, even though another old and dear friend had left them. 

"You gonna fuck me?" Jim asked him out of a wickedly grinning mouth. 

"Jesus, James." 

"I can hear your heart rate increase, you're sweating a little bit, and I smell pheromones -- they're rolling off you." 

Blair grumbled to himself a bit more, adjusting his aching leg, but secretly -- or perhaps not so secretly -- enjoying being caught out. "Man can't even dream, hmmph." 

Jim laughed. "Well, it's my dream come true, sweetheart," and reached out for Blair's hand. They pulled up to the loft; the others were here already, waiting in their cars. Darryl had driven with Megan and her family; the little girl was squirming over the backseat, trying to reach him. "Da-wuh!" Jim heard her cry in delight as he reached for her. The two men sat in the truck for a few seconds longer, holding hands, looking at their friends. Then Jim sighed. "You sit there, Chief. Don't try to get out till I can help you." 

"Getting old is *hell*," Blair said with conviction. Jim stumbled a bit himself, getting out, and nodded his agreement. 

Once they'd made it into the loft, Blair continued to bully Jim until he was locked in the bathroom, steam billowing out from under the door. Megan put coffee on, and Rafe's wife Alexandria peeled the saran off the crab cakes, spinach puffs, and mushroom turnovers. Once Blair had Jim under control, he was pushed by Darryl into his and Jim's bedroom, now downstairs since he could no longer climb the steps at night, and persuaded to change into fleecy sweats and thick wool socks. He gladly divested himself of his damp dress clothes and, after a second's thought, his underwear. What the hell. They were family. 

Darryl had the beer out, too, and turned on the television for his newest girlfriend, who found herself torn between Darryl's attentions and the delights of a children's show. "She better wear herself out soon," her grandmother whispered to Alexandria, "or Darryl will have to come with us. To Australia." Alexandria, childless and sorry, watched the little girl bounce at Darryl's feet, her blonde curls vibrating with energy. 

"It's good to love someone that unconditionally," Rafe said, putting his arms around his wife's middle. "And it's wonderful to be loved so unconditionally." Alexandria leaned her head back onto his shoulder; Megan towered over both of them, but Alexandria made Rafe look Simon-sized. She blessed her children and her fertile womb, wishing there was something she could do. 

"Uncle Jim," Darryl said as the bathroom door opened. Jim smiled shyly at his friends; he'd just seen himself in the bathroom mirror. Always such a shock -- who was that balding, wrinkled, frail old man? He tried not to see, but some part of him never believed, always thought that *this* time Jim would be back in the mirror. 

"How come I've never been Uncle Blair?" the man in question asked, grabbing at the doorframe of their bedroom to help keep his balance. 

"Here, sweetheart," Jim said, taking his arm, and together they moved to the couch. 

"Oof! Darryl, get me a beer, would you? I'm never getting up." 

"You're not Uncle Blair," Darryl said as he moved to get beers for both Jim and Blair, "because you're Cousin Blair." 

"Oh!" Blair looked extremely pleased with himself at that news, and turned to Jim with a smile. 

"Don't even think it, Junior," Jim warned him. "You're not *that* much younger than me." 

"I am, though," Rafe said, drawing his wife and Megan toward the living room. 

"You are two years younger than I am," Blair corrected him. "That's not much." But he knew that Rafe had aged better than he. Although both men had kept their hair, Blair's was much grayer and was growing ever thinner on top. Rafe had a wing of white along each temple, but he could still run a mile each day. 

"I'm the oldest now," Jim said sadly, and they paused, thinking of Simon. "I loved your dad," he told Darryl, whose eyes immediately filled with tears. "He was a good friend to me, and god knows I'm not easy to be a friend to." 

"And he became my friend, too, even though he didn't want to," Blair added. 

"That's not true," Rafe protested, but Darryl and Jim laughed ruefully. 

"It is, isn't it, guys," Blair asked, and they nodded. 

"I remember when you first showed up. Dad couldn't stop talking about this weird little hippie hanging around with his best friend. I thought you'd be my age or something," Darryl said. 

"I felt bad about that," Blair admitted, and Jim slipped an arm around his waist. 

"About what, honey?" 

"That I kinda took you away from Simon." Jim shouted with laughter. 

"Oh, Sandburg! Took me away from him! Jesus, you make me sound like a damsel in distress. Were you the evil villain, stealing me from Dudley Do-Right?" 

The others laughed, and Blair smiled, a little. "Well, kind of. Didn't I?" 

Jim kissed his forehead. "I have room in my heart for both of you." 

"Besides," Darryl said grinning, "I don't think you and dad would've been good in bed together." 

"Darryl!" Jim, Blair, and Megan said instantly, but they were laughing, too. 

"No," Jim admitted, turning a bit pink. "I never did feel, um, *that way* about Simon." He peeked at Blair out of the corner of his eye and found him preening. 

"I'm hungry," Ian announced from the kitchen where he'd been lurking. "I'm putting a plate of food together; who else wants some?" 

"I do, I do!" Kendall shouted, turning suddenly from the television, and Blair echoed her. Jim put a hand on his arm, though. 

"Let Ian get it for you. Rest your leg." 

"Rest your leg, rest your leg," he mimicked, deeply unhappy at his infirmity, but he obeyed Jim and remained seated, thanking Ian for the heavily loaded plate of goodies and a second bottle of beer. When attention returned to the kitchen and the food laid out, he whispered to Jim, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so crabby. I'm a jerk." 

Jim kissed him firmly. "You're an asshole," he told him earnestly. "But I love you, and I know it's the pain and frustration talking. You can get mad at me all you want; just don't hurt yourself." Blair kissed him back with passion, dropping a spinach puff onto the carpet. 

"I've got it," Alexandria said, scooping it into a napkin. 

"Sorry, Alex," Jim said, blushing a little from being caught kissing. 

"It's okay. I like it. You two are so in love. I want to be as in love as you are when I'm your age." 

Jim leaned forward to her where she sat on the coffee table carefully folding the napkin. He peered into her eyes. "What do you think, my shaman of the great city?" 

Blair leaned forward, too. "Mmmm, I see many years of great happiness. Lots of kissing. Lots of f--" but Jim's quick hand covered his mouth in time. 

"Little pitchers," he said, pointing his chin at Kendall, who was watching them intently. 

"Lots of fun," Blair amended, and to his pleasure Alexandria laughed, a tiny whuff of pleasure. Rafe heard and caught Blair's eye from across the room, acknowledging his accomplishment. 

Ian brought his own plate over. "Brilliant beer, fellas. Local brewery?" 

"Oh, god," Jim said as Blair opened his mouth to start the story; "you had to ask," but he settled back, said beer in hand, and listened yet again to Blair's story of discovery. Ian asked good questions, obviously a beer-loving man, and finally directions to the tiny microbrewery, pulling a worn envelope from his jacket pocket. 

Darryl sat next to Blair when the story was finished and put his arm over Blair's shoulders. "Do you mind? That you're not Uncle Blair? Tell me the truth," he pleaded. "Today of all days, I want to know." 

Blair thought for a moment, studying his friend. "A tiny bit," he admitted, "but really, only a tiny bit. It's just." He thought again. "Jim was always the grown up, you know? I was always 'the kid.' Sometimes I wanted. I dunno." He shook his head. 

"More respect." 

He looked at Darryl in surprise, then smiled. "Yeah. Maybe. I guess." Darryl hugged Blair, who hugged him back. 

"I respect you, Uncle Blair," he said into the curly gray hair tickling his nose. 

"Too late, D," Blair said, but his smile was pretty big. "Now *you're* the grown up." Darryl groaned. "It's true. How old are you? Forty-five? You're older than I was when we met." 

"Jesus," Rafe said, looking shocked. "How did that happen? Blair, I've known you," he counted mentally, eyes rolling upward, "I've known you over thirty years!" He turned to his wife, who was smiling in silent pleasure, not too many years older than their friendship. 

"Sandy," Megan called from where she stood looking at an expensively framed photograph on the wall near the balcony doors, "when was this taken? No, don't get up," she added as he started to struggle to his feet. She carefully lifted the picture from the hook behind it and carried it to him. 

"Oh, man," he sighed and touched the figures in the picture. Jim leaned over his shoulder, his breath warm against his ear. "It's Simon, Jim, and me. Fishing -- where were we?" 

"The Eel River." 

"Yeah. We camped there for three or four days. I remember wading in the river; the water was so clear, you could see the brown trout swimming in it." He studied the picture; the others in the room crowded around. 

The three men stood knee-deep in the river. Blair's hair was long and tangled; he wore only a ragged pair of denim shorts, bleached white by sun and washings. Jim stood near him and slightly behind, Simon on the other side and a little farther away. Both of them wore waders and carried fly-fishing rods. Jim was sunburned and peeling; Blair's nose was white with zinc oxide. Only Simon had had the sense to wear a hat. Blair was holding up a large trout. All three men were beaming into the camera, in triumph and pleasure. 

"Dad never stopped talking about that trip," Darryl said softly, and Megan put her hand on his shoulder. Kendall cuddled up next to him, leaning against his long legs. 

"You miss your daddy," she said softly, and he closed his eyes. Tears ran down his face. Blair hugged him again, feeling perilously close to tears himself. I'll cry tonight, he told himself. 

After a few moments, Darryl pulled away. He patted Megan's hand and kissed Kendall. Smiling at the others, he slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. 

"He's a fine man," Megan said to Jim, as if he had something to do with Darryl's upbringing. And as if he had, Jim blushed with pleasure. 

"Yeah. He turned out terrific. Simon was so proud of him." 

After a few seconds of silence, Blair asked Ian, "How long will you be here?" 

He looked at his wife. She still had dark hair, no signs of gray yet, but the sun had been unkind to her skin, especially around her eyes. Or perhaps it was the stress of the day, saying good bye to an old friend. "Our flight to Sydney leaves in three days. I wanted to spend some time here, since we came all the way back." 

"I needed to check in with my department chair, too," Ian added dryly. "I'm not sure how much longer they'll let me stay in the field." 

"So you might move back here?" Alexandria asked. Blair thought she looked hopeful. 

Ian nodded, glancing at Megan. "At least for a semester. If not this spring, then next fall." Alexandria smiled, and Rafe tugged at her short curls. 

"You'll like having Meg and the grandkids around, won't you?" She nodded, blushing slightly. Megan slid onto the coffee table next to her and hugged her. 

"I never had a sister, Alex." 

"Neither did I." 

The men sat back, a bit embarrassed but still gratified. Blair tilted his head to watch Jim watch the women; his face was thoughtful. A little sad. 

Then Darryl came out of the bathroom and asked for a ride back to his hotel, and the little gathering broke up. When the last guest had been kissed good bye and arrangements to meet for lunch the next day had been made, Jim shut and locked the door. The quiet washed over them, and Blair lay down on the couch to relax into it. 

"Unh-hunh," Jim said, nudging him. "To bed. Right now." 

Blair whined, but struggled up from the couch, trusting Jim to pull him up. He jumped when Jim put his hand right down his sweatpants. "I thought you were going commando; swinging free there, right in front of the guests." 

"Wanted to be comfortable," was all Blair would say as he flopped onto the large bed that took up most of the space in the room. "Want *you* to be comfortable," and pulled off his pants. 

"Mmmmmm," Jim said approvingly and he also undressed, neatly folding his clothes and placing them on the chest at the foot of the bed. He joined Blair in bed and they rolled into a familiar position, one that didn't strain any of their injuries but put as much flesh together as possible. Jim began licking at Blair's ear, gently biting and humming into it. From years of experience, he knew that drove Blair crazy. 

"Oh, oh, man, wait," he panted, and pinched one of Jim's nipples, hard. 

"Hey!" 

"Hey, yourself," Blair smiled up into his face. 

"You're feeling playful." 

"Naughty." 

That made Jim laugh; a code word from years before. Some stupid movie they'd seen, who knows what, but that word had come to mean a certain behavior, a role to slip into, a game to play in bed. He slid his hand down Blair's body, cupping the soft skin of his round ass, and then smacked it firmly. A nice sound, he thought dreamily, as Blair began thrusting against his thigh, and smacked it again, a little harder. Blair moaned and rubbed his face against Jim's chest. 

The thing about getting old, Jim thought as he had so many times before, is that everything takes longer. Longer to go to sleep, longer to wake up, longer to climb the stairs, and a helluva lot longer to have sex. But that's okay. Nice and slow, nice and easy. Or sometimes not so nice, maybe a little nasty, a little naughty like tonight, but still slow and easy. It took him perhaps an hour to get completely hard, but that was an hour of touching and rubbing and sucking and kissing and occasionally spanking and sometimes a sneaky finger up his ass. One of the better ways to spend an hour, he thought as he sank down onto Blair's cock, sucking as enthusiastically as a newborn. 

We can't make babies, Blair thought as he had so many times before, but we make love, we make life, whenever we do this. We celebrate meeting and fighting and learning to love each other and adopting each other's friends and families and figuring out all the ways to make each other feel good, feel really really good, which Jim was doing this moment by sucking Blair's dick down his throat with the force of a much younger man, ahh, Jesus, and Blair's hips lifted, he felt no pain, no reminder of his age, just the pleasure of the man he loved, the body he loved. 

They lay in bed late that night, awake after their nap but too comfortable to move. "Why don't we put a tv in here?" Blair asked for perhaps the millionth time. 

"Because I don't want one," Jim answered as he always did, tucking his partner more closely under his arm and kissing his forehead. "What we really need to do is move." 

"Noooooo," Blair said, twisting his head down under the covers. "Not again, Jim." 

"Sweetheart, please. You can't climb the stairs. What are you going to do when the elevator breaks?" 

"Go to that coffee house down the street and call the manager." 

"Blair. I'm serious. We need to be on the ground floor somewhere. Maybe with a nice garden?" 

"Jim. I can't think about moving. I love it here. This place has been my home in a way nowhere else ever has. This is *me*, this place. Leaving it will mean leaving part of me behind." 

Jim gazed fondly down at him, which annoyed Blair as much as it moved him. "I know you love me," he continued, "and I know you only want what's best for me. But please, Jim. Just. Let's just wait until we *have* to move. Please?" He knew he was being unreasonable, he *knew* it, but leaving here would be another in a long string of losses. There was only one loss he dreaded more. 

Jim kissed him again. "You always win, you know. For thirty years I've done whatever you've told me to. Whether or not it made sense to me." After a second, Blair nodded, looking a little shamefaced. "I hear and I obey," Jim whispered, and saw Blair look away. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered back. "I know you're right." 

"Shh, shh. It's okay. We'll wait until we can't." Only a sentinel would have heard Blair's thank-you. 

After dozing a few minutes more, Blair asked, "Can you eat?" 

"Ess, ess, mein kind," Jim said, making Blair roll his eyes. 

"Why Naomi ever taught you that phrase. . ." 

"Yeah, I could eat. Those little finger food thingies really didn't do it for me. Although Ian sure chowed them down. Soup and a grilled cheese sandwich?" 

"Cholesterol heaven." 

"Hey, we're old. What do we care?" 

Blair stopped and looked at him searchingly. "I care," he said, very seriously. "You have to care." 

"Please, Blair." Jim pushed himself upright in the bed. "It's been a rough day. We had to say good bye to Simon. We saw people we haven't seen in a long time. Calm down, okay? It'll be okay." 

"No, it won't," he said sadly, and sat on the bed next to Jim. "It won't. You're seventy-one; I'm sixty; neither of us are in good shape. We lived hard and fast lives, Jimmy. There's no help for it. I don't have any magic except taking care of you. Let me take care of you." 

Jim pulled Blair into his arms and half-way into his lap. "I love you," he said roughly. "I wish we had forever." 

"Yeah." For long minutes they sat there, cuddling in the messy bed. Then Blair kissed Jim's soft throat, just under his ear, and pulled away. "Something to eat. Something *good* to eat." Jim grabbed him and bit his shoulder. 

"Mmmmm. This is good." 

"Oh, hell, Jim; not for another day or so. Not in this life." They looked at each other. 

"This life is all we have, Blair," Jim finally said, knowing Blair already knew that. 

"I miss my mom," he answered, and Jim knew what that meant, too. 

"I know, honey. I do, too." 

Blair got up from the bed and stood in the doorway, looking out into the living room. "It went so fast," he said softly. "My apartment blew up, I moved in for a week, and now Simon is dead of a coronary. Oh god, Jim." Jim watched him stare out into the other room, knowing by his body's minuscule trembling that he was crying. 

Jim also got out of bed and went to his friend and partner. "This is what life is, Blair. It's getting in and out of bed. It's meeting people and learning to love them and then letting them go. It's eating a grilled cheese sandwich even though it might kill you. It's staying with someone for longer than you thought two people could stay together." 

Blair relaxed into Jim's lean frame and nodded his head. "Yeah," he said, his voice firmer and more confident. "You're pretty smart, for an old guy." 

Jim kissed the top of his head, then groped his ass. "You're pretty cute, for an old guy." 

Blair tilted his head back and looked up into a face he knew better than his own. He raised his hand and gently stroked that face. Then he went into the kitchen and made grilled cheese sandwiches. Because that's what life was. That's all they could hope for. 


End file.
